


Twilight of the Gods

by Kala_Sathinee



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kala_Sathinee/pseuds/Kala_Sathinee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seers had foretold this day. For a thousand years men and gods had known that Asgard would fall. He should have known this day would come, but Loki had never put much stock in prophecies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twilight of the Gods

Seers had foretold this day. For a thousand years men and gods had known that Asgard would fall. He should have known this day would come, but Loki had never put much stock in prophecies. They were made to be broken, after all. He had thought they’d escaped this fate, but there was no outrunning the inevitable.  
Seeing the gleaming spires of Asgard lit not by the setting sun but the flames leaping from burning buildings was more horrible than any nightmare he’d ever been cursed with. It was then that everything became very real. He could hear the clash of weapons and the screams of dying Asgardians interspersed with the roaring of Frost Giants. The occasional explosion would rock the floor, rattling goblets and trinkets. And worst of all, the distant baying of some monstrous hound. Or more rightly, a wolf. Fenrir.  
Loki would have rather fought every Frost Giant in Jotunheim than face that beast. He hoped he wouldn’t have to see it.  
He cast one final glance around his chambers, the ones he shared with Thor. He briefly wondered whether he would ever return, but abandoned the thought. False hope was as dangerous as hopelessness. He needed neither.  
An explosion, much closer than the last, jolted the floor as Loki swept from the room, meeting Frigga in the hallway. She was armoured, but carried no weapon; her hands full of scrolls and books instead.  
“Are the children ready?” Loki asked, raising his voice over the shouts of guards and fleeing women and children.  
“They’re in the stables. The path to the Bifrost is still clear.” Frigga glanced around, looking as flustered as Loki felt. “It’s safe for the moment, but we must leave _now_.” She clasped Loki’s arm and made to pull him down the hall, but he held his ground.  
“Where’s Thor?”  
His mother looked pained. “He’s outside with your father. Fighting.”  
Before he could properly process the thought, the floor heaved beneath them; the stone of the walls and ceiling cracking and showering them with dust. The end of the hall blew out, engulfed in blue flame. Without hesitation, Loki bolted toward the shattered masonry, raising his sceptre and blasting a pair of Jotun berserkers off the newly-formed ledge. Before more could come he turned to the scattered guardsmen and barked orders.  
“Take the wounded to the healers. The rest of you, form up! No one comes through this gap!”  
“Yes, my Queen,” the nearest captain replied, relaying the orders down the line. As Asgardian men and women blocked the stricken wall, Loki returned to Frigga’s side.  
“I’ll escort you to the Bifrost.” He looked around the damaged hall. “Is everyone out of the building?”  
“I made certain of it.”  
“Good.” With parting orders to the guards, Loki led his mother down the stairs.

 

By some miracle they made it to the Bifrost without opposition. Nearly three hundred men, women and children and a small detachment of guards rode across the Rainbow Bridge, leaving the burning city behind them. Carried on their backs and in the saddlebags of their horses was all that would soon remain of their civilization; all their greatest texts and most precious treasures, a complete account of their history, a repository of their collective knowledge and science. Their culture would survive, at least.  
It had been a fight to convince Magni to leave. He was old enough to fight by any measure, and he’d begged Loki to let him join his father on the battlefield. In the end it was Frigga who convinced Magni to remain with his siblings. Narfi could wield a glaive, but had yet to receive any battle training, and Thrud, Vali, and Modi were too young. And besides, Magni was the heir to the throne. His safety was now more important than either Thor’s or Loki’s.  
Loki paused at the threshold as the evacuees fled into the safety of the Bifrost’s golden dome. He tried to remain calm as he shepherded panicked citizens through the door; he knew they were looking to him as their Queen. He needed to appear confident.  
He was urging a group of servants’ children along, half his focus on the distant expanse of the Bridge when a tugging on his coat caught his attention. He looked down and met a pair of terrified red eyes. Modi.  
“I want to stay with you.”  
Modi’s skin had faded to a deep blue and Loki knew he must have been terribly frightened. The lad only changed when he was scared.  
Loki knelt, pulling his youngest son close and giving him a squeeze. The boys little hands wound in the collar of his armour as he started to cry.  
“Please, mummy. I don’t want to go.”  
Loki pulled back enough to meet Modi’s eyes. He could feel a lump working its way into his throat and he tried in vain to swallow it.  
“Everything is fine, Modi. You’ll be back home just as soon as your father and I destroy the Jotuns.” It felt like a lie and he hated himself for having to lie to the boy, but the truth would have been far worse. “Magni will keep you safe.” He kissed Modi’s forehead. “I’ll come fetch you when this is over.”  
Modi sniffed, rubbing his nose. “Why can’t I stay with you?”  
“I have to fight,” Loki ruffled Modi’s silky black hair. “But you are going to go visit Tony and Pepper. All right?”  
Modi nodded and Loki wiped the tears from the boy’s cheeks. He motioned to Frigga and she joined them by the doorway.  
“Come along, Modi,” she said, her voice exuding a calm that Loki envied. She scooped up her grandson as if he weighed nothing at all, propping him on her hip like she had Thor and Loki when they were young.  
She met Loki’s eyes. “Good luck.”  
“I’ll be right behind you,” he promised, sorely hoping that he could make good on it.  
Frigga carried Modi through the door behind the last of the evacuees; Modi waving goodbye over her shoulder. Once she was clear of the threshold Loki nodded to Heimdall, who activated the Bifrost.  
Energy hummed beneath Loki’s feet; the superconducting crystal feeding power to the gateway as it began to spin. A moment later the aperture lowered and a beam of concentrated energy fired off into the void. He watched it flicker and pulse in spectrum and then fade. He didn’t realise there were tears rolling down his cheeks until the dome stilled and Heimdall emerged once more.  
“You grieve, my Queen?”  
Loki broke from his daze, taking a deep breath and brushing away the wetness. He turned away from the vast expanse of stars and back to where Asgard’s shores were burning. As he spoke, his voice cracked.  
“I am never going to see my children again.” The realization hit him like punch to the gut. When he’d been saying goodbye he’d been able to kid himself into thinking that there was a chance. But now...  
“They are safe,” Heimdall rumbled.  
Loki’s jaw clenched as he fought what would have been sobs. “I just wish I could have seen them grow up.”  
“Be content that they will have the chance.”  
Loki drew a steadying breath, reining himself in. As much as he wanted to curl up and cry, there were more pressing matters at hand. There was a vibration in the crystal of the Bridge: someone was coming. He glanced at Heimdall.  
“Jotuns,” was the Gatekeeper’s only reply.  
They both raised their weapons as the thunderous footfalls drew closer. With a wave of his hand, Loki cast a couple of dozen duplicates of himself, giving them enough solidity to at least do some damage. He didn’t know how long just the two of them could hold out against a determined assault, but they had the equivalent of the high ground. The Bridge would force the Jotuns into a bottleneck; they’d have to charge in pairs, three at most. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but it was something.  
“How long will the illusions last?”  
“Not long enough.”  
As the Jotuns came into view Loki steeled himself, sizing up the enemy; searching out wounds, weaknesses. The lead Jotuns hesitated at the sight of the doubles; a fatal mistake. Loki and Heimdall burst through the first few pairs of Giants, hewing off limbs and heads. Loki’s doubles got in a few kills each before dissipating under Jotun fists.  
Loki remained on the move, trying to remember everything he’d ever learned about combat. The strikes and parries that Odin had taught him as a boy, the footwork he’d learned watching the court dancers. The constant circular motions that he’d learned from Hogun. The graceful dodges he’d seen Natasha use. The dirty tricks he’d picked up from the Chitauri.  
He whirled through the Jotun ranks, slicing and stabbing and blasting only to dance out of their reach when they struck back. He wielded Iss Hjarta as if she were an extension of his body, one end of the sceptre clubbing Jotuns while the other end cleaved through flesh and bone and sinew, firing bolts of superheated plasma at those out of his reach. At his side, Heimdall struck down Jotun after Jotun without any perceivable effort.  
They were twin blurs of gold amongst the blue; tireless to any outside observer. But eventually Loki felt himself flagging. His swings grew weaker, his footwork sloppy. One lucky Jotun’s strike connected, knocking the wind out of him, but a pair of illusory doubles took it down. Fresh adrenaline coursed through Loki’s blood and with a roar his husband would have been proud of he leapt back into the fray.  
There was blood on his face, his hands, soaking into his clothes and dripping off his armour but so far as he could tell none of it was his. His lungs burned, fresh-formed bruises aching everywhere. They were a few paces closer to the Bifrost than they’d been at the start and for the first time since facing Thanos, Loki’s own mortality struck him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he saw every ice blade and wondered whether it would the one on which he died.  
Despite the pain, despite his weariness, he pressed on. Slice, duck, twirl, thrust; he vaulted over a disembowelled body, firing a bolt into the face of one dismembered opponent who nevertheless made a move to attack... And met no opposition. Before him was nothing but bloodstained crystal and open air.  
Loki turned back, surveying the carnage that now littered the Bridge. Most of the bodies had fallen into the ocean below, but not all. Blood pooled around them, oozing over the crystal and pouring down toward the frothy waves. The Bifrost was safe, at least for the moment.  
“At least make it a challenge for me!” he shouted into the distance, dizzy with adrenaline. He expected Heimdall to warn him about overconfidence, but his words were met by silence.  
Cold fear gripped his gut.  
“Heimdall?”

 

“Tony, what the hell is going on!?”  
Pepper dodged through the crowd of people in Stark Tower’s reception hall, realizing with a jolt that they were all Asgardian. Men, women, children; out on the landing pad she could see horses. Most were tense, haggard and tired, some injured. A good many of them were crying. And they seemed to have brought half of Asgard with them; books, tapestries, devices and trinkets were piling up around them.  
She spotted Tony just outside the big glass doors, his SHIELD-issue phone plastered to his ear, a grim frown firmly on his face, and his arm wrapped around a very familiar young man.  
Narfi was clutching Tony like his very life depended on it, his head buried in Tony’s shoulder. Next to the pair was Narfi’s older brother, Magni, who looked on the verge of either murder or tears. And not far away, gazing up at the sky, was Frigga, one arm around Thrud and Vali, the other holding Modi. There was no sign of either Thor or Loki.  
Tony was hanging up his phone as Pepper emerged onto the landing pad, now adorned with a freshly charred Aesir knot.  
“What’s happened?”  
There was genuine fear and worry on Tony’s face when he looked up to meet her gaze. Both arms were now around Narfi, who was clearly crying. For the first time, Tony truly looked at a loss for words.  
“They’re evacuating. They’ve been attacked...”  
“Ragnarok.” The single word was spoken so softly that Pepper almost missed it. They all turned to Frigga, who was pale as a ghost behind the silver of her spiral-horned helm.  
“Ragnarok? What’s Ragnarok?” Pepper looked from Frigga to Tony, but it was Jarvis that spoke first.  
 _“Ragnarok. The twilight of the gods. According to Norse myth, Ragnarok was the end of the world, when the gods would fight a final war with their many enemies and monsters and ultimately lose.”_ Jarvis paused. _“If the myths are correct, sir, we won’t be safe here for long.”_  
Frigga shook her head. “Midgard is safe. Heimdall has guaranteed that much.”  
“Did he say ‘ultimately lose’?” Pepper watched a deep, profound grief wash over Frigga’s face as she nodded.  
“No!” Magni snapped, sounding more like his father than he ever had. “If I go back with reinforcements from Midgard I can drive the Jotuns back. They won’t be expecting help to come—!”  
“Don’t you dare!” Frigga snarled, jabbing a finger at Magni’s chest. “Your mother told you to leave—“  
“And if mother and father die because I was not there?!”  
Narfi pulled away from Tony, wiping at his eyes. “They need us, grandmother.”  
“You are the heirs to the throne! If you go back and die then their sacrifice will be for nothing!” Tears had begun to fall down her face, but her voice remained a roar.  
There was a long pause as Magni and Frigga stared each other down, but the silence was eventually broken by Jarvis.  
 _“Sir, Rogers and Banner are here.”_  
“Send them up.” Tony replied. He grabbed Magni’s shoulders. “Look, kid. I know you want to go back, but your mom sent you here for a reason. Let us handle this. Okay?”  
The anger on Magni’s face melted away, his chin beginning to quiver. He blinked away tears.  
“Okay.”  
Tony smiled at him and then stepped back.  
“Jarvis, deploy.”  
Somewhere above them there was the sound of a repulsor as the Mark XII launched, sailing down to meet Tony, who obligingly extended his arms. In a matter of seconds the armour had latched on and formed itself around him. Just as the faceplate closed, Pepper heard Steve’s voice.  
“Sorry Tony, we got here as fast as we could.”  
 _“Don’t worry,”_ Tony’s voice crackled from the suit’s external speakers. _“You’re right on time. Any second now...”_ There was a rumble which rose to a roar as a shadow passed overhead.

 

Loki staggered over the pile of Jotun corpses, slipping in gore as he rushed to where a golden shape lay prone. He was already reaching into his pocket for a healing stone by the time he knelt next to Heimdall. He dropped Iss Hjarta and gently eased the Gatekeeper onto his back, gasping at the resulting gush of blood.  
There was a savage rend in his armour, his flesh torn asunder from shoulder to hip. Blood was pooling around them, the coppery smell clogging his nose until he could almost taste it. He went to use the healing stone but Heimdall caught his wrist.  
“Save that for the King.”  
Loki froze, meeting Heimdall’s golden eyes.  
“You’re dying.”  
“That I am.” There was a faded, distant look behind his eyes. “But that is your last stone. You will need it when Thor arrives.” He was staring straight up at the stars. Loki wasn’t certain the other aesir was even seeing him.  
Loki slipped the stone back into his inner pocket, putting a hand on Heimdall’s shoulder. “You fought well.”  
“As did you.” He struggled against the blood in his lungs, but the pain didn’t show on his face. Ever the unflappable guardian, even as he lay bleeding on the cold crystal. He tore his eyes away from the sky and fixed his piercing gaze on Loki. “All is forgiven... My Queen.”  
A moment later he went still.  
Loki slumped. He’d seen many men and women die that day, but none had been acquaintances, let alone someone he’d known his whole life. He’d seen Heimdall wounded, he’d been the cause of those wounds, but he’d never imagined he’d ever see him bested. That he’d see him dead.  
Without a word, Loki retrieved Heimdall’s sword, placing it on his chest, arranging his hands around its hilt and closing his eyes. One could almost have believed he were merely sleeping, but Loki knew better. Heimdall didn’t sleep.  
It was quiet for a while, the crashing of the waves and the roar of the falls very nearly lulling him into a false sense of peace. It might have succeeded had it not been for the smell of smoke and blood drifting on the wind. A smell that brought him back to reality.  
He rose to his feet, straightening his armour and checking for damage. Iss Hjarta returned to his hand at his call, its icy weight a comfort at his side. From where he stood on the Bifrost he could see the towering cliffs and fjords of Asgard, sparkling with spreading flames. Smoke and steam rose to blot out the light of the nebulas and star clusters that usually shone in the night sky. The Jotuns’ ship, Naglfar, hovered over the city, raining plasma down on the towers, streets and homes. Loki wondered how many more of his people were dying. Three hundred were safe, but the city had housed a million. There was little hope for evacuating more.  
A familiar sound heralded the arrival of the one Loki had been most worried for and he smiled, kicking a few Jotun bodies off the Bridge to make way for his King. A blur grew closer, lining up with the Bridge like a Midgardian aircraft approaching a runway. As the blur slowed, Loki realised Thor was not alone.  
Mjolnir ceased her pull, Thor and his trailing crowd touched down, most looking windblown and shaken. A majority were women and children, a few were wounded warriors, the rest were scholars and craftsmen. There were at least a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty.  
“Into the Bifrost!” Loki shouted. He turned to Thor, about to ask him if he had Gungnir, but Thor had fallen to his knees, grimacing and clutching his stomach. There was blood dripping between his fingers, splattering the ground.  
Loki blanched and dropped his sceptre, bolting to Thor’s side. “Are you hurt?”  
Thor groaned. “Bergelmir got lucky.” He chuckled and a thin rivulet of blood oozed from his mouth. “Less so when I crushed his skull.”  
Loki let out a short huff of a laugh despite himself, running a soothing hand over Thor’s trembling shoulders. The other man smiled up at him before doubling over and coughing violently. Blood splattered the crystal surface of the Bridge, thick and frothy. More of the fluid poured from Thor’s wound. Loki tried not to panic, instead pushing Thor down and retrieving the healing stone from his pocket. Thor didn’t resist.  
The stone crumbled easily in Loki’s hand, falling on Thor’s wound as a sparkling powder. It took mere seconds for the separated nanites to activate and spread, shining in a wave of different colours as they wove closed Thor’s torn flesh and severed arteries. Shards of bone were carried back into place, cracks and fractures sealing as if they’d never been. Within moments the wound was sealing up, damaged skin woven together like a tapestry. There wouldn’t even be a scar.  
Thor’s breathing eased, a sigh escaping him as the discomfort left his face. The nanites had moved on to his armour, repairing the leather and metal, and Loki finally let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.  
Thor brought a hand up to Loki’s cheek. “Do not fear for me, Loki.”  
Loki leaned down, kissing Thor and trying desperately to ignore the taste of blood. A hand wound in Loki’s hair, cupping the back of his head and Loki found himself clutching Thor’s armour involuntarily.  
Thor sat up without breaking the kiss, running his other hand down Loki’s bruised back, only pulling away when Loki’s breath hitched in discomfort.  
“You’ve been wounded.”  
“Superficial.” Loki brushed it off. “Nothing more than a bruise.”  
They both stumbled to their feet, sweaty and tired and sore but nevertheless intact. For a moment nothing else mattered.  
Then Thor looked toward the Bifrost and frowned. “Why have they not left yet?”  
Loki swallowed, his jubilation at seeing Thor melting away. “Heimdall fell defending the Bridge.” His own grim monotone surprised him; reality flooding back to him for the second time that day.  
Thor’s face fell and he looked past Loki to where his old friend’s body lay.  
“I’m sorry. He told me to save the healing stone for you.”  
The taller man bowed his head sombrely. “He’s not the first to fall today.” He made his way toward the golden dome. “And he won’t be the last.”  
Loki followed close behind him, feeling his gut clench. “Who have we lost?”  
Thor was quiet for a long moment, trudging past the bodies and through the semicircular doorway. With a flick of his wrist Gungnir materialized in his hand and the crowd parted before him, bowing as he stepped onto the central dais and, without fanfare, activated the Bifrost. Behind him, Loki watched the assembled evacuees as they were caught by the Bridge like fish on a hook and dragged into the volatile-looking wormhole. It wasn’t until they were gone and the Bifrost was winding down that Thor replied.  
“Freyr fell to Surtur during the first wave. Hermod and Baldur were lost in an assault on Naglfar, and Tyr was devoured by Garm.” The words rolled from him as if he were listing off orders. Loki could tell he was trying not to let it get to him.  
“What of father?” Loki asked tentatively, horror creeping up his spine when Thor flinched.  
“Dead.” That single word was like a slap to the face. Thor turned, tears in the corners of his eyes. “He took on Fenrir... The wolf is dead now, but...” He paused, clenching his jaw. “He died fighting.”  
Loki felt his fists clench at his sides. He’d long ago come to accept that the man who’d raised him was not actually his father, but the fact that he was adopted, that he was now only related to Odin by ties of marriage, did not stop the anger, grief, and regret from whirling around his chest. He regretted not being there to say goodbye and there was a long-buried, dark, and broken part of him that wanted to march into the city and wreak bloody vengeance upon the Jotun armies; turn their compatriots against them, tear them apart and make them beg for death. For one brief second he considered retrieving the Chitauri sceptre from the vault and making slaves of the Jotun and Fire Demon alike; making them tear their kin limb from limb until none were left and then making them take their own lives in all the most gruesome ways.  
He shook the thought aside. The sceptre would give him the power to control the beasts, that much was certain, but it would just as surely warp his own mind. The more one used it, the less one cared about the targets it was used on. When he fought he would fight in his right mind.  
“What now?” Loki asked, his voice hoarse.  
Thor sent Gungnir away, hefting Mjolnir in his hand. “Sif and the Warriors Three are holding the line three miles from Valaskjalf. We’re still evacuating as many as can be reached.” He looked tired; more so than Loki had ever seen.  
“Shall I guard the Bridge?”  
Thor glanced to where the Gatekeeper’s body lay. “Not alone.” Loki followed him as he made his way outside. It was obvious to Loki that Thor was enraged. Most would have not seen past the mirage of calm, but he could see the tension writ in every line of his body. So he wasn’t surprised when Thor savagely kicked the bodies of the dead Jotuns off the Bridge and into the churning sea below.  
“Enchant the Keysword,” Thor barked. Loki would normally have objected to the harsh tone, but he knew it was simply frustration. There was no venom in his voice, not for Loki at least. “Make certain none can lift it.”  
With a wave of his hand, Loki increased the density of the blade, making it so heavy that it began to sink into Heimdall’s armour. Not even Surtur would be able to lift it from its resting place.  
When he turned back around, Thor was already swinging Mjolnir, his arm held out.  
“Are you sure you don’t want me minding the door?” Loki asked.  
“I want you at my side.” It was the closest either of them would get to admitting that they were contemplating their own mortality.  
Loki joined Thor, winding his fingers in the thick crimson fabric of his cape and holding on. Thor’s arm closed around his waist and then they were flying. 

 

The Quinjet settled on the landing pad, the engine cutting out and a moment later Natasha and Clint emerged. The Asgardian horses seemed remarkably unalarmed at the noise and flying dust, paying more attention to the refugees who were shepherding them off toward the heavy-duty service elevator that would take them to ground level. Pepper had no idea where they were going to house three hundred horses in the middle of Manhattan.  
“We’re ready when you are,” Natasha said as she and Clint came to a halt next to Tony. Both were already in their suits; Clint readying his bow, Natasha flicking the safety off on the collection of weapons she had strapped to her. Clearly she thought that this particular engagement required a more varied arsenal.  
A low rumble of thunder sounded overhead and the horse handlers herded their charges as far from the burnt-in knot on the tarmac as they could. Pepper looked up at the forming lightshow as it streamed down from the clouds, hitting the landing pad with a concussive boom. There was a scream like a jet engine and a fresh crowd of Aesir were deposited inside the blackened circle. There weren’t as many this time, and there were no horses. Some were injured.  
Tony motioned his teammates forward and grabbed Pepper’s hands. _“Back in a flash.”_  
“You better be,” Pepper replied.  
Tony saluted her as her backed onto the knot. The new arrivals had already retreated inside.  
 _“All right. Heimdall, beam us up.”_  
There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Tony barely moved; Steve fidgeted nervously. Bruce glanced from the sky to his friends and back, and Natasha looked at Clint, who shrugged.  
 _“Come on, big guy. Any time now.”_  
They were still waiting, watching the sky, when one of the Aesir children—a girl, no older than ten by Pepper’s guess—stepped forward.  
“Heimdall can’t hear you,” she called. “He’s dead.”  
It seemed to take a minute for Tony to digest the information. Pepper could imagine his mouth working silently behind the faceplate. The others reacted much the same way she herself did: A defeated sigh.  
 _“Okay. Uh...”_ Tony hesitated. _“Thor? Buddy. Open her up. We’re ready to go.”_  
Another pause with no change in the sky. Tony’s frustration was obvious, as was the restlessness of his teammates. Pepper felt useless just standing there but she knew there really wasn’t much she could do.  
Just as the silence was getting uncomfortable, one of the Asgardians struggled free of the crowd. He bowed his head in respect to Tony and the team and cleared his throat.  
“I am sorry, Tony Stark, but I was told by the King to inform you that he will not open the Bifrost to you. He says he doesn’t wish you to be involved... For your own safety.”  
The frustrated hiss that came out of Tony reminded Pepper of Loki. Bruce was immediately arguing with the young man, directing half of his words upwards to where the Bifrost had opened. Steve, Clint and Natasha, on the other hand, looked like they were already grieving; their eyes closed in quiet resignation.  
Tony kept yelling up at the sky, but to no avail. The Bridge was closed, and Pepper had never known Thor to change his mind.

 

Over the next few hours they managed to smuggle two hundred and fifty more of their people out of the city and off to Midgard. But as the fighting drew on there were fewer and fewer found alive. By the time they fell back to the steps of Valaskjalf there were no survivors to be found within their reach.  
It was soon after that they lost Volstagg. One of the Jotuns caught him with an ice blade, spilling his guts. He’d kept his humour to the last, joking that had he been less of a glutton he might have lived.  
The others warriors around them fell one by one, to blade and bolt and spear. Freya fell in a bombardment from Naglfar; Bragi to the flames of a Fire Demon. Skade was caught in a blast of ice from one of the Jotun generals and Hod was buried by falling masonry as Valaskjalf’s highest spire crumbled and fell.  
It seemed like mere moments before a thrown spear dodged by Loki impaled itself in Hogun’s chest and they lost another of their number. His death was quick at least.  
“We have to get these people out!” Loki shouted over the noise of battle. “The longer we wait, the more we risk losing our route to the Bifrost!”  
Thor didn’t take his eyes off the oncoming lines of Jotuns as he called out orders. “Fall back! Make for the defensive lines at the south hall! Loki, clear the way to Bridge. Sif, Fandral, guard our retreat!”  
Loki disengaged the Jotuns he’d been fighting, wrangling a group of young soldiers and calling to the crowd of cowering evacuees. “This way! Stay behind the guards and keep your heads down!”  
There was no hesitation. The people rose and followed, nothing but relief on their faces. Gone were the days when these same people would have looked on him and turned away in disgust. He led them away from the front lines; down through the narrow alleys beneath the gilded bulk of Valaskjalf and up onto the Rainbow Bridge itself. They met little opposition and lost none of their soldiers, mostly thanks to Loki’s memories of childhood days spent darting through the very same alleys, looking for or being hunted by Thor.  
Loki nodded to one of his men, who gave a brief blare on a horn; the signal to Thor of their safe arrival. There was no response, but minutes later the rest of their party backed onto the Bridge, fighting Jotuns the whole way.  
“Go!” Thor roared. “Head for the gate! Do not wait for me!”  
There was a scream and the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone. Loki whirled around in time to see Sif dragged amongst the beasts, joining the others as they fell upon the Jotun lines. She put up a fair fight but by the time they reached her, pulling her to a safe distance, there was no helping her.  
She’d been torn open as if she’d been mauled by a pack of wolves; soaked from head to foot in blood, some hers, some Jotun. The hand that scrabbled for purchase in Fandral’s cape was shaking. All the colour was gone from her flesh. Each breath sounded like a death rattle, frothy blood bubbling up from her chest and out of her mouth with each gasp. As Fandral shifted her she howled in pain; a purely animal sound.  
Loki cast a dozen doubles to reinforce the thinning Asgardian lines as he, Thor, and Fandral knelt beside Sif. Fandral looked stricken as he took her hand in his, but her eyes fixed first on Thor.  
“I’m sorry, my King.” She grit her teeth against the pain and gasped for breath. “I slew as many as I could.”  
“You fought well.” Thor squeezed her shoulder. Loki had lost count of how many times he’d heard that said to dying warriors that day.  
“Not well enough.” Her eyes found Loki next and he waited for the inevitable venom. But it never came. Instead, her face clouded with regret. “I have been insufferably unkind to you. I am ashamed that I—“ she grimaced, “That I mocked you for your jealousy, while I could not control my own.” She reached out, feebly clutching at Loki’s hand. “I was so cruel to you. Please, my Queen. I beg your forgiveness...”  
Loki remained frozen for a moment, looking at Thor for confirmation that he’d actually heard what he thought he had.  
“You are a noble Queen,” Sif continued. “And I would not wish to see anyone else on the throne.”  
Loki gulped, uncertain of what to say. For so many years he had both relished the challenge of their verbal sparring and dreaded what new name she would find for him that would stick. And yet, here she was, asking his forgiveness. Tears slipped from her eyes even as they faded.  
“Why are you saying this now?”  
Sif coughed, choking on thick, dark blood. When she regained herself, she forced out a reply. “I will never get another chance... And I do not wish... to go to my grave... having never made peace with my Queen.”  
Loki squeezed Sif’s hand, finding only sincerity and pain in her eyes. He wondered how things might have been had they reconciled years ago.  
“You are forgiven, Lady Sif.” He smiled. “Be at peace.”  
The tension went out of Sif’s body at the words and she fell back against Fandral, her face ashen. Fandral swept aside a few stray strands of blood-soaked hair, trembling with barely contained emotion.  
“My Lady...” he began, his voice gravely, but Sif was having none of it. Her fist closed around his collar, pulling him down into a rather clumsy kiss. For once in his life, Fandral looked unsure of what to do with himself. When they parted, he stared at Sif like he’d never seen her before.  
She grinned; mustering what little remained of her strength. “ _You_ were never going to do it.”  
“And what makes you so certain?” Fandral had the humour left at least to argue.  
“I know you.” Sif was fading quickly, but there was still something of her old fire spluttering away behind her eyes. “I’ll see you in Valhalla.”  
“I suspect you won’t be waiting for long,” Fandral replied, chancing a look at where their lines were faltering under an ever-increasing number of Jotuns. By the time he looked back, Sif had gone still.  
Loki stepped back, allowing Fandral a moment to grieve, and he felt Thor’s hand close around his own. He met his eyes and the fear and grief already there, masked behind a stoic acceptance that would have fooled others, surprised him. He hadn’t seen that look on Thor since the day he’d fallen from the Bifrost all those years ago. It was a look he’d hoped to never see again. He quickly diverted Thor’s attention.  
“We need to get these people out. We’re about to be overwhelmed.”  
Thor nodded. “We need time. Can you conjure more doubles?”  
Loki waved his hand, almost dismissively, and another dozen copies of him shimmered into existence and took up positions amongst the lines of exhausted Aesir. For now the lines were bolstered.  
“I’ll hold them off.” Fandral set Sif’s body down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before rising to his feet. He bowed his head to both of them. “My King. My Queen. It has been my honour to fight alongside you.” His jaw was set and his smile didn’t extend to his eyes.  
Thor smiled and pulled Fandral into an embrace, but Loki could see the unshed tears in his eyes.  
“Farewell, my friend.”  
Fandral turned to Loki and embraced him as he had Thor.  
“You were a fine Queen indeed, Loki,” he said. “I cannot imagine anyone else at Thor’s side. Nor can I imagine a better friend.”  
“Did you prepare this in advance?” Loki asked teasingly.  
“For months.”  
They parted, genuinely smiling, and for a moment it was like old times. But there were Jotuns closing in and a retreating crowd heading for the Bifrost. They were out of time.  
Fandral took up his sword, bowing once more before launching toward the fight with a cry of “For Asgard!” A flash of teal was the last they saw of him as he vanished into the fray.

 

They reached the Bifrost in record time; even the frailest of their number moving at a brisk pace. Thor kept watch on the distant expanse of the Bridge while Loki herded their people into the dome as he had before. The King was swinging Mjolnir restlessly in his hand, static dancing over the hammer’s surface. He clearly didn’t like being away from the fight, and if he was honest, Loki didn’t either. Knowing that their people—their friends—were out there fighting and dying while they were safe at the Bifrost made him feel like a coward.  
He steered the last refugee through the doorway and called to Thor. “They’re ready.”  
Thor turned from his silent vigil and called Gungnir to him once more. His hand closed around Loki’s bicep, gently pushing him toward the door.  
“Go. There won’t be another chance.”  
Loki shook his head. “Not without you.”  
“I can’t leave. You know that.” Thor stroked a hand down Loki’s cheek, his expression pained. He held his gaze for a brief moment before kissing him—short and sweet and speaking of all the things they didn’t have time to say. “Now go. Tell our friends I’m sorry.”  
“No!” Loki stumbled as he tried to halt them and free his arm from Thor’s grip. He twined his long fingers in the fabric of Thor’s cape, pulling himself flush against him even as Thor attempted to shove him through the gateway. “I am _not_ leaving you!”  
Their struggle paused; their eyes meeting again. Thor looked like he was barely restraining his emotion.  
“The Jotuns will take no prisoners,” he whispered. “Not even you.”  
“I would have it no other way. Better dead than some Frost Giant’s bed slave.”  
“And better still living on Midgard!” Another shove but this time Loki planted his foot and neither of them moved.  
“If you choose to die here then so do I.”  
They were both silent for a moment and with the lashing of the sea below, Loki almost didn’t hear Thor’s whispered “I don’t want you to die.”  
Loki pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “I promised I would never leave you again. I will not break that promise. Not now.”  
When Thor pulled away there were tears running down his cheeks, but nevertheless, he released Loki’s arm and stepped past him into the Bifrost. Loki stood back as, for a final time, the dome spun up, its aperture aiming off into the void of space where a distant patch of light was visible—the Milky Way. The flickering beam of rainbow light carried the last survivors of their people to safety; to their new home. As it died and the dome slowed, Loki was struck with a brief stab of regret. He could have left. He could have been holding his children by now; could have been there to see them grow up. But as a warrior it would have been a deep dishonour to flee when Asgard needed him most. Even if his King was telling him to.  
Loki waited patiently as the Bifrost glided to a stop. Thor emerged, tossing Gungnir to the waves below, and made straight for Loki. His face was wet with tears as he wrapped his arms around him in a bone-crunching embrace.  
“Is there nothing I can say that will make you reconsider?”  
Loki buried his face in the join of Thor’s neck and shoulder, snaking his arms around Thor’s waist.  
“I will not let you die alone.”  
Thor sighed, stroking Loki’s hair and nuzzling into his neck, inhaling deeply. The fingers of his other hand were tracing the lines of muscle in Loki’s back through his armour; his lips planting kiss after kiss along his throat as if he were mapping him. Memorizing him.  
Loki inhaled deeply, ignoring the reek of blood, gore, and sweat and concentrating on the smell beneath. The scent of pine and honey and warmth; the scent of Thor. It was the same scent that was always on the pillow in a morning when Loki woke; that saturated Loki’s world when Thor was above him, pressing him into the bed as they made love.  
It felt like an eternity as they stood there wrapped up in each other’s arms. Loki could feel Thor breathing him in; could feel his tears where their cheeks were pressed together. He shut his eyes, shutting out the sounds of battle—shutting out _everything_ —and just feeling. Thor’s arms cradling his back, his warm bulk pulled so close to Loki’s, the humming crystal beneath their feet and the salt breeze pulling at their capes and hair.  
“I have no regrets. You?”  
“Not making you leave.”  
Loki chuckled softly, clutching at Thor’s cape. “You should have learned long ago. You can’t _make_ me do anything.”  
He felt Thor smile against his neck as he rocked them back and forth. The blond drew a steadying breath, his hand cupping Loki’s head. His voice came out broken and raspy.  
“My Queen... my beautiful, perfect Queen... my Loki.”  
Loki drew back, brushing stray hair and tears from Thor’s face. His own eyes began to sting as he met Thor’s gaze and he swallowed hard to clear the lump in his throat.  
“I love you, Thor.”  
Thor’s jaw quivered. “I love you too, Loki.”  
Loki wound his arms around Thor’s neck, putting every ounce of emotion he had left into kissing him. There were tears pouring down his own cheeks by the time Thor kissed him back, as deeply and ferociously as he ever had. Everything narrowed down to the two of them and nothing else mattered.  
When they finally parted to breathe they had handfuls of each other’s hair and their lips were swollen. As they gasped for air, foreheads pressed together, Loki called Iss Hjarta into his hand.  
“Together,” he whispered.  
“Together,” Thor agreed.  
A strange sort of serenity overcame Loki as Thor began to spin Mjolnir. There was no more uncertainty, there were no more decisions to be made, and he had no regrets. He’d overcome his darkness, he’d come to terms with his heritage, he’d gotten the recognition and equality he’d always wanted. He’d loved, he’d married, and he’d birthed five perfect children. He’d been a hero, a queen, a mother, a warrior. And now he would die a warrior’s death.  
Mjolnir carried them toward the burning shoreline, closer and closer to their fate. As they swooped low over the embattled streets, coming in to land, Loki put his lips to Thor’s ear.  
“I’ll see you in Valhalla, my love.”  
Thor squeezed him close in answer just before they dropped into the chaos below. 

 

They fought for hours in that maelstrom; darting and weaving through a seemingly endless horde of Jotuns and Fire Demons. Every muscle in Loki’s body was screaming in protest at each motion and he was very nearly deaf from the almost constant howl of thunder and lightning called down only a few feet from him. The air around him crackled with electricity, the smell of ozone beginning to drown out the smell of blood, gore, and death.  
He was slowing, that much he knew. With each strike or parry his opponents recovered faster while he recovered slower. Iss Hjarta’s bites were growing shallow; fewer of the Jotuns went down with a single strike. He couldn’t even find the strength to weave a simple spell.  
Pain lanced through him and he whirled, slitting the throat of the offending Jotun. He downed another in quick succession, but he could feel warmth spreading and running down his back. He staggered and it proved a mistake. His swing missed and an ice blade slipped between his ribs. Iss Hjarta cleaved the head from the Jotun’s shoulders and Loki tore himself off of the blade with a cry. Blood gushed down his side and he fell to one knee.  
The Jotuns rushed forward, eager for the kill. The first dozen lost their legs or guts to Loki’s sceptre. Still they came and Loki roared at them in challenge, even as he felt blood clog his throat. A blade found his back, narrowly missing his spine, and another speared his shoulder. Any cry that he would have given died in his throat, drowned by blood. With the last of his strength, Loki smashed the blades holding him down and lunged, sinking Iss Hjarta into the chest of the nearest Jotun.  
The blow came before he could withdraw the sceptre. Something heavy struck his head, knocking him sideways. Iss Hjarta slipped from his grasp, still embedded in the dead Jotun’s chest. As he hit the ground he was dimly aware of his golden helm clattering away from him across the cracked and bloodied pavement. His vision greyed around the edges and didn’t clear when he blinked. There was no pain either, and half of his mind wondered at that until he realized that he couldn’t feel much of anything at all.  
His increasingly wandering mind focused instead on the dissipating storm clouds overhead. There was no more lightning; no more thunder. The light of stars and nebulas pierced the clearing sky. Even the Jotuns were moving off.  
Across from him, prone on the pavement, was Thor. His cape was gone, his armour dented and torn. His helmet lay in two pieces several feet away and Mjolnir sat, embedded in the pavement and forgotten. Blood pooled around him. But as he met Loki’s gaze he smiled.  
Loki smiled weakly in return, reaching a trembling hand toward Thor’s, just meeting his fingertips. The blue of Thor’s eyes was the last thing he saw as the world went black. 

 

They waited on the landing pad for hours but there were no more refugees. The rainbow-tinted clouds that the Bifrost produced eventually dissipated, replaced with leaden rainclouds. Bruce and Natasha were the first to head inside, presumably to make sure the kids were alright. Clint and Steve followed not too long afterward. Pepper would have gone with them, but Tony didn’t show any sign of moving, despite the rain pelting his armour.  
“I don’t think they’re coming, Tony,” she said after a moment of them standing alone in the downpour.  
Tony didn’t move, and Pepper couldn’t read anything past the impassive mask of his suit. _“They just need more time.”_ He didn’t look away from the sky.  
“It’s been five hours since the last group.”  
 _“Battles take time—“_  
“Tony.”  
He slumped, the faceplate of his suit sliding open as he reluctantly made his way toward the glass doors. Once they were both out of the rain the floor underneath Tony split, robotic armatures rising up to strip away the suit. With the mask gone, Pepper could see the dark, puffy circles around Tony’s bloodshot eyes and the grim expression on his face.  
“Jarvis, get Dummy up here with towels and blankets.”  
 _“Of course, Mr. Stark.”_  
Tony turned to Pepper, brushing wet hair off her forehead. “You should have gone inside; you’re soaked.”  
“I’m fine.”  
Tony tried for his usual nonchalant veneer, but his smile was hollow and after only a moment it faltered. Without a word he pulled Pepper against him, squeezing her close. He held her there for a long time, utterly silent, before the unmistakeable whir of robotic treads broke the quiet. Pepper turned as Dummy looked up at them, laden with what looked like every towel and blanket in the building.  
“Good job, Dummy,” Tony said, taking one of the towels and wrapping it around Pepper’s shoulders. “Let’s get the rest of these upstairs.”  
When they got to the upper floor Tony immediately went to work passing around towels to those who’d been out in the rain while Dummy rolled around, dropping blankets into the laps of everyone else. The room was very quiet, most of what sound there was came from the fireplace; flames leaping high and tossing sparks onto the stone tiles.  
Most of their guests were seated around the hearth. Magni was hunched over, his head in his hands. Steve was next to him, his arm around Magni’s shoulders. Thrud was curled against Natasha, very obviously crying as Natasha wrapped her in a blanket and smoothed her hair. Clint was holding Vali on his lap as the boy sobbed; and next to him Bruce and Narfi sat in stony silence. Frigga stood by the window, cradling Modi.  
For the first time in ages, Pepper had no clue what to say as she made her way to Frigga’s side.  
“Where’s mummy?” she heard Modi asking as she drew closer.  
Frigga’s composure was strained. “He’s back home, fighting alongside your father.” She managed a smile over Modi’s shoulder.  
“It looks like you guys are staying for a while,” Pepper remarked, trying to put _some_ kind of positive spin on it. “I’ll have Jarvis ready some rooms. Rob’s gonna be home any minute, I can make some hot chocolates...”  
Frigga nodded, smiling despite the tears on her cheeks. “They’ll like that.”  
Pepper swallowed the lump in her throat. “Let me know if there’s anything else.”  
 _“Ma’am. Robert is home.”_ Jarvis broke in. _“He’s on his way up now.”_  
She sighed. “I guess I’ll have to explain some things.”

 

It was a long evening, from explaining everything to Rob over hot chocolates, to Modi finally realizing that his parents weren’t coming. Thrud and Vali spent most of the evening in tears, Modi eventually joining them. Narfi and Magni instead seemed to have lapsed into shock; silent and staring. It was well into the night before anyone went to bed.  
Pepper tossed and turned, woken either by her own nightmares or Tony’s equally fitful sleep. When she finally gave up and slipped from the bed the clock unhelpfully reminded her that it was four AM.  
She padded down the hall, heading for the stairs, and just about jumped out of her skin as she passed the doors to the landing pad. Standing out on the charred knotwork, white nightdress glowing in the moonlight, Frigga looked like a ghost. Pepper supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that she wasn’t the only one up, but then again, she wasn’t used to there being that many people in their home.  
She slipped through the doorway, making her way across the still-warm tarmac to where the former Queen stood, looking out over Manhattan. Pepper could hear the sound of traffic and the occasional car horn far below, but for New York it was quiet. A steady wind was blowing and she hugged her arms close to his chest, shivering. At least it had stopped raining.  
“I didn’t want to cry in front of Modi,” Frigga said by way of a greeting. “I just managed to get him calm enough to sleep.”  
“How long have you been out here?”  
“Hours.” The weariness was obvious on her face. “I needed to at least try... To know whether they were still there...” She hung her head. “But the Bifrost is closed.”  
“We could try Selvig and Foster’s bridge. I’m sure they’d get it working ahead of schedule if Tony helped out.” Pepper suggested. “Or we could rebuild the portal device. You brought the Tesseract with you, I’m sure we can—“  
“You would only succeed in bringing the Jotuns here.” Frigga drew in a deep, steadying breath. “And then their sacrifice would be for nothing.”  
Pepper nodded, still half-hoping to hear the Bifrost howl to life above them; but the sky remained stubbornly dark and still.  
“I don’t know what to do...” Frigga continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve lost my home, my husband, both my boys.” Her voice broke on the last few words. “My people will look to me now, but I am just as lost as they are.”  
Pepper looked around them, thinking about all the levels below them now set up like barracks, hundreds of refugees trying—most likely unsuccessfully—to sleep. She thought about the five children who were now orphans. And she thought of the two friends she would never see again. She didn’t really know how it was going to go over with the government when they discovered that Tony Stark had allowed over seven hundred aliens into the United States without authorization, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. Besides, SHIELD would vouch for them, she was sure.  
“We’ll work things out.”  
Frigga gave her a sceptical look. “Where will we go?”  
“I don’t know,” Pepper admitted. “But you don’t have to worry about that. Tony and I can work out the red tape.”  
They stood in silence for a while, both tired and drained and cold. Distant sirens wailed somewhere below them.  
“I cannot thank you enough for taking us in,” Frigga said, her voice hoarse. “We had nowhere else to go.”  
“You always welcomed us. Why wouldn’t we do the same?”  
That time Frigga’s smile was genuine. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, looking at Pepper as if she’d just noticed her. “Goodness, we should go inside before you catch your death.”  
“I’m fine, really,” Pepper insisted, but headed for the doors nevertheless. She almost didn’t hear Frigga’s soft call up at the sky.  
“Farewell, Thor... Loki.” She paused before adding, even quieter: “Goodbye my love.” Then she turned away from the knot charred into the tarmac and followed Pepper into the tower. Neither of them looked back.


End file.
